


Father of the East

by shutterbug



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Drabble Collection, Father's Day, Gen, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 04:18:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutterbug/pseuds/shutterbug
Summary: Over the years, Reid receives a variety of Father's Day greetings.





	Father of the East

**Author's Note:**

> Collection of five 100-word drabbles. 
> 
> Feedback and concrit is ♥

Edmund looked upon Mathilda’s handprint--black ink on the paper in his hands. 

Mathilda smiled at him.  

His chest tightened with affection and pride. “We should frame this, should we not?” 

“Yes, Daddy!” 

His smile widened as he removed a photograph from the wall--it showed him with his peers, when he had become a sergeant. 

He replaced the photograph of a dozen grim-faced policeman with Mathilda’s handprint, then studied each little fingerprint. 

In the doorway, he found Emily. His heart took flight when she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with a whisper, “Happy Father’s Day.” 

~~~

When Edmund entered his office, his eyes gravitated to the anomaly, the object that rested center-stage upon his desk: a bottle of single malt Scotch whiskey. 

A red bow obscured the label. A card lay under the bottle. 

In the June heat, Edmund read the handwritten note inside the card:  _ A gift to Inspector Reid from his loyal and faithful officers of H Division.  _

The significance of the date didn’t escape him, and he inhaled deeply, tried to focus on his men, rather than his girl, and reached for his tumbler. 

He poured a finger of whiskey and drank alone. 

~~~

As usual, he presented his bowler to Artherton, who took it. But not as usual, Artherton presented him with a stack of cards, all addressed to him. 

“From where do these cards originate, Sergeant?” 

“From Miss Goren, sir.” 

Edmund read each one at his desk. Miss Goren’s orphaned children had drawn idyllic scenes of familial affection. A tall man holding hands with small children. Tucking them into bed. 

His chest constricted. Ached. Not just for them, but for himself, for what all of them had lost. Or had never known. 

He shut his door and responded to each fatherless child. 

~~~

Exhaustion overwhelmed Edmund as he collapsed in his chair and his eyes fell upon the morning newspaper. 

He ignored the headline, distracted by a note that lay atop the paper. 

_As I say in today’s paper_ , the note read, _you have, once again, protected Whitechapel from villainy. While my real father has forsaken me, I find comfort that you, perhaps more than any other, are father to all of us. On behalf of_ The Star _and the people of this city, Inspector Reid, allow me to say:_ Happy Father’s Day.

Until his career’s end, Best’s note remained inside his desk. 

~~~

When Mathilda wrote, she often included a photograph of her family. 

This time, she included an additional paper, stamped with the handprint of his granddaughter.

Edmund blinked at the black print, tears blurring his vision. 

Not long ago, he had looked upon Mathilda’s handprint, just as tiny. 

He smiled at Mathilda’s words: _We’re still trying to wash away the ink,_ she wrote. Mathilda’s hand had been dark for days. 

Then his breath caught as he looked upon her final page: her own handprint. One of a grown woman. 

He hung it beside the first print she had ever given him. 


End file.
